


Caught Off Guard

by joonfired



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathing/Washing, Canon Compliant, Disney is never giving me this, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I did some Mandalorian research, I just need some touching Mandalorian/Omera content okay, I need more of Omera, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Culture, Mando and Cara are bros, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Single dad Mandalorian, Slow Burn, Socially Awkward Mandalorian, Soft Mandalorian, The Author Regrets Nothing, also the Mando is struggling with a lot of like morals, but I'm also gonna make up my own reasons, ish, of which I know nothing, oh boy do I run with it, so I guess I gotta write it, so I'm gonna try and stick to canon cultural stuff, so I'm running with that concept
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21619153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonfired/pseuds/joonfired
Summary: "Wouldn't that be nice?""It would."-=-=-=-Nothing catches him off guard except the things he least expects.||Aka Mando is new to feels and family and love||
Relationships: The Mandalorian & Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian & Cara Dune, The Mandalorian/Omera (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 285
Collections: Din and Omera (The Mandalorian)





	1. Sanctum

**Author's Note:**

> oof y'all I'm dead cause I thought I wouldn't slip from the parent fluff side of the fandom
> 
> but then Omera came along and now I got a perfectly angsty ship to write about
> 
> (I'll edit and add the Mandalorian's name whenever the official spelling is dropped haha)

He thought he was getting used to being surprised.

The first one that started the cascade of the unexpected was that kid, bringing a world of trouble with it. Then came the child’s ability, the stuff of legend. After that reveal, the Mandalorian figured nothing else could surprise him.

Until they landed on Sorgan.

On that planet, he felt like the only thing he knew to be sure and true was the Way. It was his foundation in the midst of the unknown, it was his identity. Who was he without his armor but just another lifeform trying to survive in the galaxy?

Yet with the Way, he was Mandalorian. He had walls to guard him . . . but even now he felt those slipping.

“You know,” Cara said as they walked the wooded perimeter of the village as was their daily habit, “I think there are different kinds of Mandalorian.”

“Of course,” he replied. “To follow the Way is to be Mandalorian.”

“Nah, not that.” She spat onto a fallen log. “I mean like different sects. Different versions of the Way.”

“There is only one Way,” he said, but his voice lacked the full measure of belief.

“Sure, just like there’s one kind of Jedi,” Cara snorted. “Tell that to the Sith.”

This was a small surprise to the Mandalorian, to hear this once-Rebel soldier talk so easily of myth. The Way was sure, but the Force was a mystery.

“What do you mean?” he asked, perhaps a bit more demanding than he meant.

“Relax, shinypants,” she laughed. “I’m not saying you should change beliefs. I’m just saying that maybe there’s a lot more to your Way than you think.”

The Mandalorian didn’t ask for further clarification on the topic, and she didn’t give it. But what she said sat with him like a festering wound: unable to be ignored.

The questions helped center him. Caring for the child was an avoidance tactic he could deploy, and did in fact utilize to the point where he knew how obvious it was to Cara and Omera and the others.

But the temptations themselves were a form of sanctuary, he thought. He was in such a peaceful location that his mind had the room to wander and wonder and wish.

Oh, he wished.

He wished for the freedom to not be always looking over his shoulder for a tracking fob, which was a bit ironic given that most of his life he’d been a bounty hunter. He wished he knew more about the child, what it was, and where it had been taken from. He wished Cara hadn’t raised the topic of different Ways.

And he wished Omera wasn’t so damn nice.

He wished for so much.

~~~

Dinners on the krill farm were social events. It was a very tight-knit community who were content with their way of life, the older members thankful for the solitude and the children still too young to want more.

Dinners made the Mandalorian feel like the stranger he was. Of course, the farmers were grateful for his help taking down their enemy, but they were still so . . .  _ unguarded _ . They had no armor, no steel to their gazes, and he saw just how well their peaceful life had treated them.

Well, all that was except Omera. 

Her past was a story he wondered at. She was an exceptional shot, did not bend under his visored gaze, and yet still treated him with a kind respect that had him curious if she’d spent time with Mandalorians before.

That night, his head was still full of the questions that morning from Cara. And when he saw Omera by the cookfire, the Child in her arms and a smile on her face, the Mandalorian was struck by another surprise.

He was tempted.

He was in such a peaceful location that his mind had the room to wander and wonder and wish. His belief in the Way was being tested and the thing that startled him about it was that he was beginning to doubt the Way that he’d been raised in.

A little while later when the initial rush for food had diminished, Omera approached him. The child was still in her arms, tiny hands clinging to the material of her tunic. But as they neared the Mandalorian, his Foundling reached for him with a coo of recognition.

He took the child from her arms and smiled at the way it settled so familiarly against him.

“He’s really attached to you,” Omera said in that quiet, soothing voice of hers.

“Hmm, he just knows who’s fed him the most,” the Mandalorian replied gruffly.

He didn’t like compliments because he didn’t know how to respond to them. Especially when Omera said them.

She laughed, one hand covering her mouth in a gesture he’d noticed was habitual. In the darkening light, flames casting an orange glow over her features, the Mandalorian thought her particularly beautiful.

“Well, if I give him more food than you, maybe he’ll love me more,” Omera teased gently.

“Huh. Uh, maybe.”

The Mandalorian wasn’t a great talker in any situation, but he was especially awkward in her presence. Ever since she’d asked about his helmet removal, in fact.

He really should be used to questions about the Way. It was so different from other paths of life that there were bound to be plenty of questions. But it was her question, the way she said it, that he couldn’t seem to shake.

“Do you want me to put some food in your quarters for later?” Omera asked.

“Yes, thank you,” the Mandalorian said.

It was this gentle, thoughtful manner of hers that he was so curious about. She had bones of steel yet a heart of understanding. It made her quite . . . perfect.

She nodded and smiled at him in a way he was still confused by, but was slowly beginning to understand.

The Mandalorian was no stranger to the aura he projected, particularly to females. They found the mystery of his armor as a wall they desired to breach. As a mystery he wanted them to unravel.

But that was not the Way.


	2. Tempted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian is faced with a question and an awkward situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have so much fun writing Cara and Mando interactions??  
> They're definitely bro-like buddies

He’d been taught about those who lost the Way.

The Armorer had told him that those who removed their armor were then removed from the Way. That to walk the Way was to be set apart, to be known as Mandalorian—those whose faces were unknown to all.

The Mandalorian knew that Cara enjoyed her spotskcha. After their morning patrol she could be found somewhere in the center of the farm houses, drinking the luminescent blue brew. And he had learned that the drink loosened her tongue, or perhaps it was this area which had done that.

“What did you mean there are different Mandalorians?” he asked as he walked up.

Cara smirked at him. “Been chewing on that one, have you?” 

The Mandalorian didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such teasing familiarity from her.

“It has . . . been on my mind,” he agreed.

“I gotta imagine it gets pretty stifling in there, hmm?”

“My armor is well-ventilated,” he snapped, not comfortable with her method of conversation.

Cara just made a face that showed she didn’t fully believe him as she sipped at her spotskcha, eyeing him smugly over the rim of her mug.

“I’m just saying I’ve run into a few Mando,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a big galaxy with lots of opinions about the same things.”

“Perhaps the Mandalorians you met were frauds wearing stolen gear,” he suggested.

Cara snorted into her mug. “Nah, they talked almost as pretentiously about the Way as you do.”

The Mandalorian wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but after a few moments of annoyed thinking, he decided to leave that battle alone.

“All I meant to say,” said Cara, putting her mug down on the arm of her chair, “is that things might have been different a few decades ago.”

It was of course at that statement when Omera made an appearance from around the corner of the building, a basket of twitching blue krill propped on her hip. Her daughter followed after like a magnet connected them, the child peeking out from the circle of Winta’s arms.

Thankfully she did not comment upon whatever she might have overheard, but as she passed between the two of them, the Mandalorian saw the curiosity tucked away in her gaze. Her dark eyes touched him in a way that made him feel as if he were armorless to her, and he still wasn’t sure if that sensation was pleasant or not.

When the two Sorgans were inside the building, Cara raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Careful, Mando,” she drawled. “You may be wearing a mask but you’re pretty bad at hiding your thoughts.”

“If you want to go a few more rounds, you should just say it,” the Mandalorian shot back.

Cara laughed, stretching up from her chair. She patted him on the shoulder, draining the rest of her spotskcha before she said, “Trust me, I’m not the one you’re itching to roll with.”

Well, now his armor felt a little stifling as her words settled over him.

“I . . .” he started, but Cara just chuckled and sauntered off.

~~~

That night, he dreamed of Omera.

He saw her as she’d been a few hours ago, moving through the gathered Sorgan farmers with dishes of food and a warm smile on her features. But that same smile softened and changed when it was directed towards him.

She approached him where he stood against the side of a woven-walled hut, watching the events as was his habit. He told himself this was to keep an eye on the kid as it toddled from farmer to farmer, small features happy and mouth always open for more food. But deep down, barely admitted, the Mandalorian wished for this—a community.

Oh, there was the culvert which had taken him in all those years ago. And while he was a member of that underground tribe, happy to contribute to the care of its foundlings and grateful to be a part of the Mandalorians . . . it had never felt like home.

But here, these people, this woman looking up at him with so many possibilities in her eyes—

This could be a home.

“You don’t have to lurk in the shadows,” Omera said. “You could join us.”

“Maybe another time,” he replied.

She glanced over to where the child currently was, sitting in Winta’s lap. The two children laughed together, a bond clearly established between them.

“He fits in well here,” she said, believing the Mandalorian to be watching the child, too.

But his concealed gaze was on Omera. He watched the firecast shadows dancing over her warm-colored skin, his eyes dipping further down. He followed the graceful length of her neck, caught for a moment in the darkness pooled in her clavicles, and then even lower into places he did not think interesting on a woman until now.

It was so easy to look at her in his dreams.

And then Omera turned back to him, and though his captivated eyes were hidden to her, she smiled knowingly.

“I believe you can make a good life for him here,” she said, curling her hands around his.

The Mandalorian inhaled sharply at the sensation, suddenly realizing himself gloveless. Her palms were warm and calloused against his, her slim fingers winding almost possessively with his.

He felt his pulse leaping everywhere under her touch, desire kindling into life in his chest and low in his stomach. And when she lifted one of his hands to fit it against the curve of her jaw, he could not mask the sigh that left his lips.

Even with the concealment of his armor, she stripped him of all defenses.

“I wish . . .” he thought, but the words ended up spoken and thus heard.

But he did not finish the sentence, instead transfixed with her heated skin under his fingertips. He slowly, ever so slowly, ran his touch down her jaw and along her neck. Her pulse jumped with the exploration and he felt it under his palm, though her features remained peaceful.

Omera squeezed the hand she still held when his fingers reached the smooth expanse just under the collar of her tunic. He felt the beginning swell of her chest and suddenly wanted to dive further and grasp it, to feel the fullness of her in his hand.

But there was suddenly an unexpected sound that lurched the Mandalorian awake.

He sat up, gasping for breath. The child moved sleepily in his arms, blinking open its large eyes curiously at him.

“I . . . I’m fine,” he managed.

Although the Mandalorian was absolutely not fine.

He felt peeled open and left for all to see every secret part. His pulse raced in his veins and his armor felt like chains. He longed to return to his dream . . . and also to forget it forever.

And he was suddenly, painfully aware of the physical effect of that dream.

The Mandalorian set the child to the side of their bed area, where it promptly tipped over and fell asleep again. But he remained sitting, wondering whether or not to remove his helmet and wash his face in cold, cold water.

The decision was made for him when there was a quiet knock on the frame of the barn door and then Omera entered with that quiet, feline ease of hers.

The Mandalorian quickly looked away from her, though he could not ignore her presence. Or the other pressing matter quite literally attached to him.

“Good morning,” Omera said.

“Uh, yes,” he said, getting to his feet and turning away from her. “Good morning.”

He braced his gloved hands on the window frame, flexing his fingers in the leather and gripping the frame tightly. But even that reminded him of dream-Omera’s hands in his, of the imagined warmth and silky texture of her skin.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, coming up to him.

“Yes,” the Mandalorian said quickly, clearing his throat. “Just, uh, bad sleep.”

He turned away again, this time towards his gear. He gathered up his pulse rifle and buckled it over his shoulder, silently commanding the damning evidence of his dream to  _ go away _ .

Honestly, it was as if he were a waning youngling all over again.

“I’m going to, uh, patrol a bit,” he said, making for the doorway.

“All right,” she said, as if him leaving was just the beginning to his inevitable return.

He could not resist looking back, and saw her cradling the still-sleeping child in her arms. She looked up at him with a warm smile that went straight down where he didn’t want it to go.

“Uh, okay,” he said, turning around again. “I’ll . . . I’ll be back later.”

Out in the woods, he was able to relax. But unlike most dreams which faded away, this one remained, taunting him with tempting possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mwhahaha this is the beginning of his fall


	3. Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mando is forced away from his temptations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K so this is moving forward post ep4 here on out as the first 2 chapters were set in the weeks between the AT-ST takedown and the ep4 ending
> 
> also this features canon dialogue that I didn't take the time to check for accuracy so :P  
> the feeling and intent still gets across hahaha
> 
> also I ended up listening to Yellow by Coldplay on repeat while writing this chapter  
> these lines "And you know/For you I'd bleed myself dry" just kept hitting me especially hard in the Mandomera feels idk why

After the dream, he didn’t avoid Omera but he was . . . careful. Cara noticed and commented, but if Omera knew then she kept quiet about the knowledge.

Thankfully the Mandalorian did not dream of her again, but that was only when he was asleep. For that one dream acted as the waking call to his mind, urging his thoughts to dwell on a future he could not have. And because of such thoughts, he knew his departure was in order.

But the child was happy here. This was a safe place for him.

He said so to Cara one morning several weeks after they’d run off the raiders. There had been no sign of further hostility towards the krill farmers but the Mandalorian knew that, if he stayed, word would spread about it.

But the ex-soldier decided to ask him about his helmet— _ again _ . She seemed more hellbent on the subject than Omera. Maybe that was why he preferred the one over the other. Cara pushed him to consider different paths; Omera accepted the one he walked.

“That’s it?” Cara countered his response. “So you can slip off the helmet and settle down with that beautiful young widow and raise your kid sitting here sipping spotskcha?”

The Mandalorian didn’t deign that with a reply. Instead he went to inform Omera of his decision, no doubt Cara smirking at him while he walked away.

He found Omera tending a krill pond near the edge of the circular farm clearing. She rose at his approach, wiping her hands off on the blue-stained apron she wore over her tunic.

The Mandalorian told her the decision he’d first made known to Cara, which Omera took in patient stride. Her calm was welcome, but a tiny part of him wished she would protest. He wanted to feel wanted by her.

“What about you?”

Well, guess sometimes wishes did come true. But it still caught him off guard.

“Me?” He resisted the strong urge to point at himself for further clarification.

“Are you happy here, too?” Omera said brushing away a strand of hair that fluttered suddenly into her face. His eyes tracked the movement wordlessly, and when he did not answer, she continued. “We want you to stay.”

Wanted.

“The community is grateful,” she said, her voice soft and inviting. “You can pack it all away in the possibility of another bad day.”

She did not gesture at his armor, but instead behind her shoulder at the barn where his weapon-filled crates were stored. But her eyes said something different, that she wondered if one day he might consider tucking his armor away, too.

And that was a question the Mandalorian did not have a certain refusal for. Instead, he remained quiet. Neutral. Waiting to see what else she had to offer, if there was something he might find tempting enough.

He wanted there to be something.

“You could have a good life here with your boy,” Omera said, her voice now filled with understanding. She looked over to where the child was playing in the circle of younglings, her daughter Winta one of the loudest. “He could be a child for a while.”

‘ _ He could be a child longer than we might live,’ _ the Mandalorian thought.

But Omera was looking at him again, dark eyes searching his helmet as if she could see through the beskar and into the heart of him. And it was almost true, for she had spoken the wishes hidden deep in his soul, brought to the surface by his time here.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” she asked gently,  _ oh _ , so gently.

“ . . . it would,” the Mandalorian admitted.

It was as if he’d cracked a part of himself off and given it to her, the feeling painful but soothing at the same time.

He wondered if this was what heartbreak felt like. For him to turn away such a wonderful life, settling down in this peaceful valley with the child and the possibility of what all Omera’s captivating gazes held. The sudden void that yawned open inside him surely matched what descriptions of heartbreak he’d gathered over the years.

Omera’s lips parted at his broken confession. She lifted her hands to his helmet, a mystery falling over her features. But behind his mask, the Mandalorian was suddenly filled with forbidden longing.

As she tipped his head slightly toward her, he wanted to feel the sunshine on his face. He wanted her to see him as he so easily saw her. And he was absolutely  _ terrified _ of that happening . . . but his fear did not stop him from dipping his chin down to silently begin the process of removing his helmet.

He really wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t thinking of the Way or the consequences of these actions.

He only saw Omera.

But then his senses came crashing back, jolting his conscience. He couldn’t . . . he couldn’t do this.

The Mandalorian lifted his hands to Omera’s, his gloved fingers curling around her wrists and gently moving her hands from his helmet. It settled back against his neck, both a familiar comfort and a new barrier.

“I don’t . . .” he started, his voice uneven. But he steeled himself, settling his tone. “I don’t belong here.”

He was not meant for the quiet life, no matter how much it appealed to him. For as much as the Mandalorian longed for such an existence, he also knew the truth deep in his bones that sitting still was not his path to walk.

He did not realize the hope in Omera’s features until it vanished.

“I won’t let him forget you,” she promised.

Suddenly, there was a gunshot in the wooded perimeter behind them. The Mandalorian reached for Omera, turning to shield her as he drew his blaster. When there were no following shots in the next few seconds, he glanced over at the child.

It was still alive, clutched in Winta’s arms.

“Go get the kids,” he told Omera, charging her with their protection and thus knowing the younglings would be guarded well.

He then ran into the woods, quickly discovering Cara standing over a steaming corpse. There was a faint, horrifyingly familiar beeping pulse emanating from the corpse, and the Mandalorian rolled the body over to reveal a tracking fob.

His shoulders fell and his jaw clenched as the ramifications of this drowned his mind. Even in the middle of nowhere, the kid still wasn’t safe from whatever nefarious, sick purpose the Impirical Client was desperate to procure him for. Which meant wherever the kid was put others in danger, too.

It put this farm community in danger again.

“Guess you’re still gonna be stuck with the kid for a bit,” Cara said, assuming the summary of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

~~~

“We could help you fight off whatever hunters come,” Omera said. She stood just inside the barn doorway, hands winding in her krill apron as she watched the Mandalorian gather up his gear. “You helped us, so let us help you.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he replied, his motto for everything right now.

Bragging aside, he was a well-known bounty hunter. Formidable, even. The dead hunter was just the first of many that would find their way here, perhaps even in groups to ensure success against him. He would not ask others to face such odds when there was this simpler solution.

He could not ask her to risk everything for him. This was her life, her home. He would not be the destroyer of that.

“You don’t have to be alone in this war of yours,” she said firmly.

The Mandalorian sighed heavily, recognizing a tribe mentality in her. But this was not his tribe.

“Thank you for . . . everything,” he said a bit awkwardly, the blaster rifle she’d used held in one gloved hand.

She smiled in suspicious expectation at him, glancing at the rifle. He held it out to her.

“This is, uh, in case of a bad day,” the Mandalorian offered. Omera stepped forward and accepted the rifle, tucking it professionally into the crook of her arm. He also nudged a bin towards her with his foot from the nearby pile. “So are these.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do in return for all your help?” she asked softly.

“These last few weeks have been payment enough,” he said gratefully. “Couldn’t have picked a better spot.”

“And we’re better because of it.” She grinned in sudden camaraderie with him, seemingly choosing the route of a positive farewell.

He huffed a laugh as he turned back to packing, but even after the sled was loaded and goodbyes given, as he sat next to the child watching the farm slowly fade into the distance, Omera’s words lingered with him.

The Mandalorian was the better for coming here . . . which was why it pained him to leave.

Inside the shadows of the trees that surrounded the isolated community, he entered the farm coordinates into his vambrace console. Whether this was for memory or the future, he hadn’t decided yet.

Afterwards, he settled the kid in his lap, comforted by its presence.

“Guess it would have been harder leaving you behind, too,” the Mandalorian told the child, fondly stroking the top of its fuzzy head.

It cooed faintly, and then looked up at him with a clear question in those large eyes.

“Yeah, I miss them too,” he murmured, leaning back onto the pile of bins and supplies that took up the majority of the slow-moving sled.

The child toddled up his armor and settled down in the space between his shoulder and helmet. Together they stared up through the gaps in the tree branches. The Mandalorian lifted his vambrace, checking the recently entered coordinates.

Maybe, they were more than memory. Maybe in a future where they were no longer hunted, they could come back.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I probably spent too much time diving into the angst of that helmet scene hahaha
> 
> next chapters dive into some action and feels  
> 


End file.
